Page 27 of Winds of Destiny

“She was my sister first. I’ll do as I please.”

Turo removes his blade. “Go on, get up then. I’ll even let you draw your sword uninterrupted this time.”

Rusen narrows his eyes. “Swear it. No more trickery, just a straight-up fight.”

“No more trickery,” Turo agrees. Sure enough, he lets Rusen get to his feet. He even lets him draw his sword without a hint of a problem.

Once he’s armed, Rusen’s bravado comes back. “Let’s go,” he says and moves in with another strong attack. Turo counters, and…

It’s not a genuine fight, not really. I can see that much. Whoever trained Turo, he’s got an edge to him that not even my men have, a killing edge that drives him to push until he forces a fatal opening. He’s not taking any of them, obviously, but to Turo, this bout is as good as a fight to the death.

For all that Rusen is strong and quite skilled, he’s not fast enough to block every blow from the blunt side of Turo’s whirling blade, and his own strikes don’t land anywhere near where he’s expecting them to. Turo is a force of nature, and after five minutes of losing so abjectly that even he can’t deny it any longer, Rusen surrenders the bout.

“Me next!” Jeric jumps up, eager as a cub. “I’ve never seen some of those moves before. If you’re all right with another round, I’d love to try my hand with you.”

Turo smiles. To do otherwise in the face of Jeric’s enthusiasm is nearly impossible. “Very well. What’s your weapon?”

“Hand axes.” He reaches for his belt, then pauses. “Are you going to let me draw them without embarrassing me?”

“Sure,” Turo replies easily. “I’ll save the embarrassment for when we get going.”

Cam watches avidly as the two square off. Double hand axes versus a sword—if the ax fighter is quick enough, it would be a slaughter. Jericisquick and skilled, but Turo isn’t fazed. He ducks and dodges, his sword cleaving through Jeric’s defenses like water until he’s left mock slices on the younger man five separate times. The last one touches his neck, and Jeric laughs and steps away, lowering his axes obediently.

“What about a spear?”

That’s Morfan, lounging against the wagon wheel. He doesn’t usually put himself out there—I’m intrigued that he’s bothering now. He’s an excellent spearman, though, second only to me in our company.

“Fighting with one, or against one?” Turo asks.

“Both, if you’re game.”

Turo seems to think about it, then smiles. It’s the first time I’ve seen it since… Actually, I mightneverhave seen him smile before. It makes him look younger, sharp and handsome, and I can tell that Camrael notices as well by his audible intake of breath.

“Fine.” He sets his sword aside. “But I don’t have one of my own.”

“Use mine.” I get up from my seat and retrieve my spear from the wagon it’s stored in, handing it over. Several of my men laugh—and I get it. The spear is at least two feet taller than Turo is, but he’s got a decent grip on it. He hefts it a few times, then nods to me and heads back over to square off with Morfan.

Camrael is tense when I sit down again. “I’ve never seen him fight with a spear,” he murmurs. “Against them, yes, but always with a shield and sword.”

“Well, then.” I nudge Camrael with my hip and am delighted by the way he blushes. “This should be interesting for all of us.” Turo doesn’t strike me as the kind of man who resigns himself to losing, but Morfan has distance and strength on him.

The first few exchanges are slow, Turo feeling out the limits of his weapon and Morfan probing for openings. Things speed up after that, and it doesn’t take long to see that, with this weapon at least, Turo is at a disadvantage. My spear is too long and Morfan too skilled at blocking for Turo to get close to landing a blow, and when Morfan finally begins to push his advantage, I wonder if we’re going to see Turo lose at last.

Rusen certainly thinks so. “Hit him in the ass!” he shouts. “Let him run off his bruises tomorrow, eh?”

“Don’t fighthisfight!” Camrael calls out, surprising me. Turo too—he actually glances at us before being forced back into defense. “Make it into something you’re better at!”

“Perhaps he should try pole-vaulting over Morfan, then,” Rusen says with a laugh. “He can…”

Whatever he’s about to say dies as Turo suddenly speeds up, taking enough initiative that he gets Morfan to drop the tip of his spear in an effort to block. That’s when Turo jumpsonto Morfan’s spear, forcing it deep into the dirt before dropping his own weapon, leaping in front of Morfan, and driving his heel into the other man’s gut, right at the seam of two pieces of armor.

Morfan doubles over with a gasp, and that’s all the time Turo needs to draw a knife—where from, I don’t even see—but there’s a palm-sized blade resting against Morfan’s neck before I can blink.

Morfan nods his acceptance of his loss, then groans as Turo levers him up straight. “Well done,” he says gruffly, the closest Morfan ever gets to approbation. His lover, a newer soldier in my guard called Ferow, looks torn between challenging Turo himself and dragging Morfan off to their bedroll to “check his wounds.”

Hells, I’d like to test my skills against Turo as well. Just as I shift my weight, though, Camrael gets up and stretches. “I’m tired of sitting here watching the fun,” he says. “It’s clear that Zephyth produces better warriors than Huridell.”

Oh, is it?“How do you rate yourself compared to Lord Turo, my prince?” I ask him.

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